


Something About Alaska

by Insomnia_Productions



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Fluff, For reasons, Inspired by true events, M/M, Slow Burn, Vacation AU, aka my fourth-grade summer vacation, and being really awkward about it, and disorganized, and he's really salty about it, based on a tumblr prompt, dorks being dorks, except in the mountains this time, feat. belgian waffles, misaki is rly talkative, oh yeah, probably, saru is forced to take a break, seriously those waffles are something else, sharing hotel rooms, train-trip around Alaska, which tells you enough in itself, whoops almost forgot that super important detail haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saruhiko doesn't want to be in Alaska. He doesn't want to be on vacation at all. He most certainly doesn't want to be hiking, outside, in the cold. </p>
<p>(But maybe his impromptu companion will change his mind.)</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>the one in which Misaki sleeps on a stranger's shoulder and now they're going on a romcom trip around alaska because of totally valid reasons</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Takes Two

Fushimi Saruhiko should not be on this plane. He should not be on any plane, or any mode of transportation at all, for that matter. He should be in his office, diligently retyping the stick-figure reports submitted by his subordinate, Doumyoji, while the rest of his Scepter 4 colleagues enjoy lunch. He should be in a royal blue, government-owned building, surrounded by television screens and the pleasant sound on fingertips hitting the keyboard. He should be  _ at work.  _

And yet, Saruhiko is not at work. Saruhiko is on a plane to Alaska, desperately making the most of what little time he has left with signal before the plane takes off and internally cursing his infernal boss for forcing him to take a vacation. 

What kind of boss complains that their employee is working  _ too hard _ , anyway? 

They made him write up a full itinerary, too, a complete script of exactly what he plans to do there. Saruhiko has it in his bag, now, crumpled and shoved to the side, never to see the light of day again. He knows that they’ll find out, of course, when the hotels write to the company to inform them that their bookings are unfulfilled—it is Scepter 4, after all, that is paying for this vacation—but that is  a problem he will deal with upon return. For now, he rests his head against the window, watching the ground shrink.

 

.

  
  


“U-um… excuse me…”  

Saruhiko opens his eyes. The boy in the aisle seat next to him is looking at him with an embarrassed half-smile on his face, amber eyes averted. 

“Um… I’m trying to sleep and I can’t get comfortable in this seat. I noticed that you’re also sleeping so I don’t want to bother you or anything but, um… could I… could I please use your shoulder as a pillow?” 

Saruhiko blinks at him once, twice, three times. “...What.” 

“Please? I’m light, I promise, and I won’t talk or anything—”

“No.” 

“Please—”

“No.” 

The boy sighs, turning away and pulling his beanie down over his eyes. “Okay. Sorry.” 

Saruhiko shakes his head.  _ What kind of idiot…?  _

 

.

 

Ten minutes later, Saruhiko feels a weight on his shoulder. He tenses, turning his head slightly, and notes that the redhead in the neighboring seat has, despite his previous complaints, managed to fall asleep. Unfortunately, his head is now resting on Saruhiko’s shoulder. 

“Hey. Wake up.” 

The boy doesn’t stir. Saruhiko lifts a finger to prod his cheek. 

“Wake  _ up,  _ idiot.”

The boy’s eyelids flutter, briefly, but he only smiles and nestles more comfortably into Saruhiko’s shoulder, and Saruhiko wants to push him off but he looks so  _ peaceful _ .

_ Well, fuck. I guess this is my life now. _

Saruhiko sighs, resting his head against the stranger’s, and prepares for a very long flight.

 

.

 

The bed is warm and squishy, and Saruhiko sinks into it, pulling the duvet blanket over his head. Alaska, he has realized upon arrival, is  _ fucking cold.  _ Saruhiko does not like the cold. But that’s all right, after all, his plan is never to leave his hotel room, and when his booking expires the next evening, just let those pushy receptionists  _ try  _ to kick him out. 

There is a knock at the door. Saruhiko grits his teeth.  _ What part of ‘Do Not Disturb’ do these morons not understand?  _ But the voice at the door is not the scratchy, clipped tone of a hotel worker. This voice is young and flustered and confused, and it speaks in a steady, almost indecipherable stream. 

“Hey, so, um, my room doesn’t have any food and I don’t know if hotels are supposed to provide, like, fruits and stuff, I mean, this is my first time in a hotel and I don’t know if I should call them or if they just don’t provide… but I’m hungry and I’m too broke to go to a restaurant so could you maybe help me out, just a bit, please? Sorry to be a bother, but I—” 

Saruhiko clamps his pillow over his head, muffling a groan.  _ Why me? Why me?  _

Outside, the voice continues to babble. 

Saruhiko rolls off the bed and trudges over to open the door. The voice stops, and amber eyes widen up at him. 

“H-hey! You’re the guy from the plane!” He flushes. “Uh… sorry about… you know. But I’m so glad to see you! Can you help me?” He looks…  _ relieved _ , a bright smile on his face, and it’s not the way people usually react to Saruhiko’s presence, so he steps back to let the boy into the room, every cutting response he had planned dying in his throat. 

“Oh, thank you so much,” the boy gushes as Saruhiko turns to look for food. “My name’s Yata, by the way. I think I’ve already said it, but this is my first time in a hotel. It’s the first time I’ve ever traveled anywhere, actually, so I don’t really know what to do. Actually, this whole thing was kind of on a whim… I mean, I recently found out that all my friends don’t actually like me… they just think I’m annoying and stupid…” he trails off and gives a forced laugh. “I just needed some time away, you know? So I got a plane ticket and now I’m here and I’m so broke and I have no idea what to do… oh, hey, so your name is Fushimi Saruhiko, huh? Nice baggage tag, by the way, is that the name of your company? Scepter 4… oh, I know them! You guys’re that elite government police force, right? That is so cool, Saruhiko! Do you have a sword? I heard you guys have swords. Oh, have you, have you  _ killed _ anyone?” 

Saruhiko scowls, tossing him a red apple. “No. What’s your first name, Yata?” 

The chatter halts abruptly. “A-ah… nothing special…”

“You know mine, it’s only fair that you should tell me yours.” 

Yata blushes again, mumbling under his breath. 

“What was that?” 

“Misaki! My name is Misaki, okay? But just call me Yata.” His eyes are averted again, roaming all over the room. And then he perks up, turning the flop onto the couch and pick up the crumpled piece of paper lying on the table. “Oh, is this your itinerary? Whoa… you’re really organized, aren’t you?” 

“Tch.” Saruhiko sits down next to him. “I’m not doing any of that. The only reason I’m here at all is that my dumb boss forced me to take a break.” 

“Ah, a workaholic, huh?” Misaki laughs. “Even your vacation plan is uptight… but this place is really pretty, Saruhiko! You shouldn’t just stay cooped up in here. A little fresh air is good for you, and, no offense, but you look like you don’t really take care of yourself. I mean, you’re super thin and I didn’t think it was even possible to be that pale.” Saruhiko raises an eyebrow, and the redhead hurriedly continues, “Not that you look bad, or anything! You actually look really good… I-I mean, I guess you do! I wouldn’t know… haha… but my sister would probably say you look good…” He trails off miserably, and then his eyes light up. “Oh, I know! Why don’t we do it together?” 

“What?” 

Misaki waves the plan at him. “You have a plan but don’t want to do anything. I want to do everything, you know, to get my mind off of my dumb ex-friends, but I have no idea what to do. We should team up and do your plan together. It’ll be fun, trust me.” 

Saruhiko rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Misaki. This plan was made for one person, and everything’s pre-booked. I can’t just add another person.” 

“Oh, right.” Misaki deflates, lowering the paper. “I’m an idiot. Sorry.” 

Something about his sagging posture makes Saruhiko hesitate, and, just for a moment, he thinks that he… kind of wants to see that irritatingly bright smile again. 

“Well,” he mutters grudgingly, “it’s not like I’m paying for this trip. The added expenses of having another person tag along… my boss would be the one paying for all of it. So, maybe…” 

Misaki shoots upright, eyes sparkling again. “Really? You mean it?” 

Saruhiko shrugs. “Serves him right, anyway, for forcing me to come on this dumb trip.” 

“Thank you!” Misaki smiles so, so wide, gripping the paper with both hands. “You’re the  _ best _ , Saruhiko. This is going to be so great!” He glances at the itinerary, and then out the window. “Oh, looks like we’re leaving Anchorage tomorrow afternoon… it’s still light out, so… why don’t we wander around town for a while? See some shops, maybe get something to eat? If we’re going to spend this vacation together, we should probably get to know each other.” 

Saruhiko really, really wants to protest, to climb back into bed and stay there until the last possible minute, but his eyes are locked with Misaki’s and he can’t seem to look away, and somehow he finds himself agreeing. 

It’s concerning, to be honest, how for some reason he doesn’t seem capable of refusing the redhead anything. 

Well, no matter. Misaki is already halfway out the door, dragging Saruhiko along with him, and Saruhiko decides that it’s a problem he can worry about another time. 


	2. And He Made Me Feel Excited… Well, Excited and Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trains
> 
> sorry I've lost the ability to summary

Over cold tables and warm Chinese food, with a bag full of carved bears and knives made of polished bone, Saruhiko learns that Misaki, like him, is twenty years old. The redhead was born in the summer and has two half-siblings and a stepfather who makes his mom happy. He learns that Misaki, like him, never finished college, but for different reasons, and that he now works several part-time jobs, but is looking towards a more stable career at his friend’s bar, which, coincidentally, also functions as an informant base for Scepter 4. He learns that what Misaki wants most in the world is a place to belong. 

Consequently, Saruhiko also learns that Alaska has surprisingly good Chinese food. 

And, most importantly and most disconcertingly of all, Saruhiko learns that, in spite of himself, he actually… enjoys Misaki’s company. 

All his life, Saruhiko has remained in a solitary bubble, existing in his own small, closed-off world, with a heavy padlock and chains on the door. Sometimes people come along with a paperclip or a hairpin and try to pick the lock, but in twenty years, not one of them has succeeded. Not that Saruhiko minds. It’s safe, that way. 

He’s safe, that way. 

And yet, completely out of the blue, Yata Misaki has walked—or tripped and stumbled, more like tripped and stumbled—right up to Saruhiko’s world, carrying not a paperclip but a chainsaw, and in just a day he’s hacked through at least one fourth of the chains. And Saruhiko stands inside the bubble, watching him work and pointing out all the weakest links and  _ helping  _ him. 

He’s never helped, before. He only watched, before. Watched and shrank away from the walls and huddled in a corner with his fingers crossed that no one could get in. But he’s not in a corner now, instead he’s standing with his fingertips brushing the walls, leaning closer and closer until his breaths condense on the glass, just a one-way-mirror’s width away from the outside world. And it’s terrifying.

It’s terrifying, but somehow it’s… exciting. 

 

.

 

“Saruhiko!” 

Saruhiko blinks, jarring out of this thoughts, and turns away from the train window as Misaki sets two cups on the table and slides into the cushioned seat opposite him.

“They’re selling hot chocolate back there, so I got you some.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Misaki waves him off with a smirk. “Your company’s paying, anyway.” 

Saruhiko smirks back. “On that note, I’ve heard that the Alaskan Railway has some great lunch. Want to go order everything on the menu?” 

“Hell yeah!” 

 

.

 

Almost an hour later, the two slump back in their seats upstairs, and Misaki laughs with his eyes closed and his face tilted up to the ceiling. 

“I didn’t think food could even be that good…” He cracks one eye open and looks at Saruhiko. “I can’t believe you don’t eat vegetables. You, the super-cool technological genius and government police third-in-command. You don’t fucking eat vegetables.” 

Saruhiko scowls. “And you don’t drink milk. You, the twenty-year-old midget.” 

“H-hey, don’t bring my height into this!” 

“Oh~? Is it a touchy subject, Mi~sa~ki?” 

“That was just low, Saru. Really fucking low.” 

Saruhiko’s eyes darken. “What did you call me?”

“Eh, so you can call me Misaki but I can’t—” Misaki’s gaze falls back to him, and Saruhiko sees something like understanding flash in his eyes. “...Bad memories, huh?” 

Saruhiko stiffens, looking away. “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s okay, you know. I won’t call you that anymore if it bothers you—”

“No, it’s… fine. I guess it’s all right if it’s you.” 

Misaki looks at him disbelievingly even as a stain of pink spread across his face. “...You sure?” 

“Mm.” 

“Okay, then.” Misaki laughs again, light and airy, and Saruhiko wonders how someone who was so lost and upset that they traveled all the way to  _ Alaska  _ on a whim could laugh so easily. “Hey, look,” the redhead says, peering over the back of his seat, “the observation desk’s empty.”

Saruhiko frowns. “Don’t tell me you want to go out there,” he mutters, crossing his arms and settling into his seat, but Misaki is smiling and already he is springing out of his seat to pull Saruhiko up, and what was that not-being-able-to-say-no thing he thought he didn’t need to worry about? 

Misaki pulls him out onto the open-air space between two carts, letting go of Saruhiko’s hand to grip the railings and stand on his toes, leaning out so that the wind whips through his ginger hair. Grinning, he points to the hills covered in green. “Saru, Saru, look, there are  _ bears _ !”

Saruhiko looks. There are, indeed, bears, lying on their backs in the grass with thick fur the color of honey and snouts raised to the sky. 

“Ah, this is so fun,” Misaki laughs, stretching an arm out. Saruhiko watches the wind push it back, turning his fingers blue. “Come on, Saru, you should try it!” 

Saruhiko leans against a corner where the railing meets the wall of the next car, wrapping his arms around his torso. “No, thanks.” 

“Pft, suit yourself.” Misaki turns his gaze to the flora whipping past them, leans back over the railing and  _ screams _ . 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!” The wind carries his voice away and he stops, gasping for breath, and then screws his eyes shut and starts again. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—ahaha!” Misaki spins, leaning back against the railing, and beams at Saruhiko. His hair is a bird’s nest after a storm, and his cheeks are red, eyes dancing. Despite the biting cold, he looks warm. Saruhiko shivers. 

“Aw, are you cold?” Misaki teases, but there’s nothing spiteful in the comment. 

“Very. How are you  _ not  _ cold?” 

“It’s ‘cause I’m a naturally warm person. Unlike you,” he adds, shooting Saruhiko a sly grin. “Ice prince.” 

Saruhiko sticks out his tongue, and instantly regrets it as cold floods his mouth.  _ Fuck. _

Misaki brings a hand to his mouth, trying in vain to muffle his laughter, and stretches out the other hand to take ahold of Saruhiko’s arm. 

“Come here, idiot.” He yanks hard and Saruhiko stumbles, falling into Misaki’s arms, and the redhead holds him close. “There, see, now you’re not cold.” 

“...Or we could just go back inside,” Saruhiko grumbles, and Misaki instantly lets go, stepping back and taking his warmth with him, and Saruhiko feels cold, colder than before.

“R-right, yeah, that’s… that makes sense. Sorry. Should we go back inside, then?” 

“No… it’s all right. If you want to stay out here. It’s all right.” 

Misaki smiles. Together, they turn back to the scenery, hands on the railing, and Saruhiko does not notice his own slow shuffle to the side until his arm brushes Misaki's. The redhead leans into him, an oil lamp in the winter, and even as the wind falls upon them like a tidal wave of ice, Saruhiko does not feel cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayy, misaki, channeling some of that inner Shion, huh?
> 
> so I've decided to stick with Saru's POV so that I can maximize the emotional pain once ~~feelings~~ start to surface. ^-^
> 
>  
> 
> no but like for real though  
> the alaskan railway has the best food ever holy shit and that observation deck is so great... it's freezing but it feels great to have the wind whipping through you, and you can yell as loud as you want but you can barely hear yourself... I would spend ages out there singing Lady Gaga songs at the top of my lungs and letting the wind carry my voice away. 
> 
>  
> 
> hmmmmmm maybe sarumi could have a fun lil sarumi-song duet like that on the next train hmmmmm *strokes nonexistent beard*
> 
> those bears are really lazy, though, they just lie around in the sunlight with their bleached fur... 
> 
>  
> 
> OH AND ALSO I forgot to mention it but this trip is taking place in the summer. I doubt Saruhiko could survive Alaska at any other time. 
> 
> oh yeah and in case you haven't noticed I'm titling these songs based on song lyrics. The last chapter was from 'It Takes Two', and this one was from 'I Know Things Now', both from Into the Woods~


	3. Thinking to Myself, Hey Isn't This Easy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MOTHER  
> FUCKING  
> HUSKY PUPPIES
> 
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Saruhiko is cold. 

Really, really fucking cold, and this time not even Misaki can warm him up, despite the fact that the redhead is practically hanging off of him, pointing and yelling. 

“Saru, Saru, look, it’s a  _ puffin _ !” 

“Yes, Misaki, that is indeed a puffin,” Saruhiko drawls back, eyes tracking the small, black-and-white bird as it zips away, comical orange feet brushing the azure water. Currently, he is situated by the side railing of a large boat, with Misaki clinging to his left arm as they sail in between lush mountains, a few rays of precious sunlight shimmering in between the low-lying clouds of Seward. 

Misaki gasps again, theatrically loud, and points in the other direction, attention averted from the puffin. “I think I just saw a whale!” 

“This  _ is  _ a whale-watching experience, Misaki.” 

The other scowls. “You say that, but you’re not really  _ watching _ , are you?” 

“How can I? My eyeballs have frozen over.” 

“Pft.” Misaki turns away from the water to look up at Saruhiko, giving him a fond smile. For a moment, he looks as though he’s about to say something—and then a splash appears by the boat, and the moment ends as Misaki nearly falls over himself trying to get a better look. “Okay, that was  _ definitely  _ a whale!” His excitement only increases when a head pops out of the water, followed by another—two orcas that disappear beneath the calm surface moments later. 

“You have to admit that was awesome.” 

“Orcas eat whales.” 

“You must be fun at parties,” Misaki sighs. 

“I don’t go to parties.” 

“You—” the redhead breaks off, nudging Saruhiko and pointing up at a high cliff. At its peak, a lone seagull sits facing the open water, away from its kin gathered on the rocks below. “You’re like that bird. Everyone’s having fun down there, but you insist on being a fortress of solitude.” 

“And you,” Saruhiko responds, turning his gaze to a rock bathed in sunlight. “Are like those sea lions, over there, lying around all day and doing absolutely nothing. Much like a person who can’t even hold a part-time job for more than a week.” 

“Y-yeah? Well… you’re like that otter! Floating around all by yourself… and you can’t even see where you’re going because you’re too busy holding onto a rock or a shell… and that shell is your dumb lone wolf complex.” 

“Better that than you. You’re like those puffins. Look at them, bobbing in the water like sitting ducks. But the moment something happens to excite them, they’re up and trying to run on the water, flapping their wings like madmen and getting nowhere.” 

“Well  _ you’re  _ a—” 

“Misaki, look.” 

The two halt in their bickering as the boat slows. Misaki is looking at the sight before them (a giant glacier, white on the surface but grey and icy blue on the slope leading into the water, the color of the sky on a day speckled with wisps of greying clouds) but Saruhiko is looking at Misaki, taking in his wide eyes and the way his lips part as he stumbles forward, closer to the front of the boat. 

“Whoa…” He turns to gape at Saruhiko. “Are you  _ seeing  _ th—” 

A loud thump interrupts him, and he lets out a startled yelp and spins around. Saruhiko peers over his shoulder to see one of the boat workers peeling the net off a large chunk of ice. He pats the ice and steps away, grinning around at the other people on the boat, who instantly clamour to touch it, cameras flashing. Saruhiko backs away from them, watching Misaki’s white and orange disappear into the cloud of greys and blues. He emerges moments later, hands trembling but smiling widely. 

“Come on, touch it! It’s  _ actual glacier ice _ !” 

“Fuck no, it’s too cold.” 

Misaki rolls his eyes and vanishes back into the throng, and Saruhiko barely has a moment to blink before the redhead bursts out again and flings his arms around Saruhiko’s neck. For a moment, he wonders what the hell is going on and why Misaki is so close, and then all thoughts are lost as one thing flashes in his mind:  _ cold. Cold. Cold. COLD. COLD. COLD. COLD.  _

Misaki lets go, and Saruhiko shivers as cold spreads through his body, chilling him to the bone. 

“You… fucking…  _ monster _ ,” he grits out. 

“That’s what you get for being a killjoy,” Misaki cackles, not bothering to hide his amusement, and Saruhiko notes that, having been prodded at by a large number of tourists, the ice is beginning to crumble around the edges. 

Misaki isn’t laughing when a chunk of glacier mush slips down the back of his jacket. 

 

.

 

At the store, later, Saruhiko can tell that the lady at the counter cannot understand why he and Misaki are smirking at each other when Saruhiko buys a toy puffin, and Misaki a toy otter. 

 

.

 

“I really, really hate you,” Misaki says when they’re returned to their hotel and changed out of clothes soaked with glacier ice. 

Saruhiko sighs. “Really? Oh, well, I suppose you won’t want to come with me to the Iditarod Trail, then…”

Misaki shoots him a suspicious look. “What’s that?”

Saruhiko smirks.  _ Got you. _

 

.

 

“Oh—oh my god. Oh. My god. Oh my god. Oh my  _ god _ .” 

Saruhiko bites back a smile as Misaki stares in awe at the sight before him. The two are standing in front of a yard full of huskies, with a few sleds resting on the side. 

“This is the starting location for an annual race over about a thousand miles of harsh, mountainous terrain,” Saruhiko explains, although he doubts that the redhead is listening as he ruffles the fur of the nearest dog. “It used to be a mail and supply route, so it’s considered a historical trail.”  

Misaki looks up at him. “You know a lot of stuff, don’t you, Saru?” 

Saruhiko shrugs. “I read, sometimes.” 

“And  _ remember _ .” Misaki sighs. “That’s really cool, Saruhiko. Wish I could retain information that easily…” He stands and wanders toward a small pen, and Saruhiko watches him walk away, eyes wide. 

_ That’s… cool?  _

 

_. _

 

_ “HoLy sHiT sAruHiko lOok!”  _

 

.

 

Saruhiko steps into the pen to see Misaki standing with his hands clamped over his mouth, gazing at a horde of puppies. A sign on the wall declares:  _ Husky Puppies, 5 Weeks.  _

“Saru, I think… I think I’m going to die,” Misaki whispers hoarsely, lowering his hands. 

“Right,” Saruhiko scoffs, sitting down, “you do that.”

The instant he reaches the floor, he is attacked by a wave of fluff. 

 

.

 

“Gah!” Saruhiko sits cross-legged, holding a small, wriggling grey puppy away from his face as  _ every singly puppy in the pen  _ gathers around him, pawing at his clothes and rubbing their noses on his arms. Extremely disgruntled, Saruhiko turns to Misaki for help—but the redhead is staring at him with eyes wide as galaxies, blushing madly. 

(Wait, blushing?—but he doesn’t have time to wonder about that, not now.)

“ _ Yata Misaki.  _ Stop staring at me and  _ make yourself useful _ .” 

Misaki blinks, unfreezing. “O-oh, right, yeah, sorry…” He stumbles forward, and the puppies part like the Red Sea, gathering at Saruhiko’s sides to let Miski crouch down in front of him. It is only a momentary relief, however, for as soon as the redhead is seated, the puppies swarm around Saruhiko again, clambering into his lap and licking his face. 

“God—fucking—dammit.” 

“Holy shit,” Misaki says, and begins to laugh. 

Saruhiko tries to glare at him, but all the fluff on the puppies tickles and Misaki’s laughter is bubbly and warm and contagious, and before he can stop himself, Saruhiko is laughing too. They must look ridiculous, the two of them, sitting in the dust, surrounded by husky puppies and in tears from laughter. 

Dimly, Saruhiko can feel red eyes watching from the dark recesses of his mind, watching and dancing with malice as a taunting voice that sounds so close to his own runs through all the reasons why he shouldn’t let himself have this much fun, especially not with someone like Misaki, but Misaki’s eyes are brighter than the red and Misaki’s laughter is louder than the whispers, so just this once he borrows some of Misaki’s light, and somehow it’s enough to chase Fushimi Niki’s shadow away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tHE FUCKING PUPPIES THO THEY'RE SO CUTE HOLY SHIT 
> 
> but even cuter than that is Saru being swallowed up by a flood of adoring puppies 
> 
>  
> 
> Next up is Girdwood. I didn't really do much there, but there's a cable car and also river rafting, so there's loads of potential for two of the most common romcom events~
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and comments are super appreciated


	4. Teach Me How To Be Whole Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> English and catharsis

“You must be Fushimi,” the guide says in English, flashing a wide smile. Her blond ponytail swings like a pendulum as she turns to Misaki. “Sorry, you’re not on my list. Who…?” 

Misaki’s mouth opens and closes, and pink dusts his cheeks. “Um…” 

Something in Saruhiko’s stomach twists, watching him watch her, and he pokes Misaki in the shoulder, effectively returning the redhead’s attention to him, and notes with surprise that his eyes are wide and confused. 

“Uh… Saru…” Misaki mumbles meekly, “what… did she say?” 

Saruhiko groans. “Don’t tell me you came to Alaska without knowing basic English.” 

“Sh-shut up! I told you it was on a whim!” 

“Ugh.” He turns to the guide and responds in fluent English: “My idiot companion who traveled to America without knowing basic English would like to inform you that his name is Misaki Yata.” 

The guide beams at Misaki. “Yata, then, and that’s no problem at all. It’s nice to meet you! I’m Robin.” Turning back to Saruhiko, she continues, “Welcome to Girdwood! You’re going river rafting, right? It’s twenty minutes by car, so we should get going now if we want to be back in time for you to do any other activities at the hotel. Oh, by the way, I have some sandwiches, in case you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” Saruhiko mutters. He can feel Misaki’s eyes burning into him as he speaks to her. “What sort?” 

“Ham and cheese… salami… tomato and cheese… and chicken.” 

“ Chicken and… salami sound good.” 

“Great! I’ll give them to you in the car.” Robin spins and begins a sprightly march towards her large, white car. Saruhiko follows at a slower, significantly more reluctant pace, with Misaki at his heels. As they walk, as they climb into the car, as they take their seats in the back with Robin at the wheel—Saruhiko can still feel Misaki staring at him. Finally, as the car begins to drive onto a road flagged by conifers, he cracks. 

“ _ What _ are you looking at?” 

“I didn’t know you speak English…” 

Saruhiko sighs. “Of course I speak… how else could I have come here on my own?” 

“I don’t know! I just…” His voice drops, eyes studying the leather seats. “I just think it’s really h—um, cool.” 

“Why?” Saruhiko blinks at him, mystified.  _ It’s just a language…  _

“It just sounds nice, shut up, stupid Saru!” Misaki folds his arms and slumps down in his seat, pulling his beanie over his ears and looking out of the window. 

_ What… was that? _

“You okay back there?” Robin calls over her shoulder. 

“Fine, just… talking. Are there sandwiches back here?” Saruhiko doesn’t listen to her response, instead sneaking a glance over at his companion. The redhead is still facing away from him, but that fiery blush has manifested itself once again. 

 

.

 

The inflatable raft is dark green, and Saruhiko really doesn’t want to get in it. He doesn’t really want to do  _ anything  _ on this trip, for that matter, but somehow every item on his itinerary sounds less awful when Misaki excitedly points it out. That is, of course, until he is actually forced to  _ participate _ . 

“You’ll need to wear these,” Robin states brightly, tossing them each a neon orange life vest. Saruhiko pinches his between his thumb and forefinger, lip curling.  _ I think I’d rather drown. _

Then the vile garment is snatched out of his hands and shoved onto him, and Misaki is tightening the straps and laughing, seemingly forgetting his previous indignance. 

_ This boy is like the wind,  _ Saruhiko thinks, but he smiles back and gives Misaki’s own life vest a sharp tug, effectively cutting off the redhead’s blood supply. 

 

.

 

“Ah~” Misaki collapses onto the bed, arms reaching behind his head to hug the stack of plush pillows. “I love this bed.” 

Saruhiko throws his jacket onto him—once again, it is covered in glacier ice, no longer icy blue but slate grey—and hides a smile as Misaki sputters. 

“Get off, that’s mine. You get the couch. Freeloader.” 

“Fuck  _ you _ ,” Misaki groans, rolling over and burying his face in the pillows—and, consequentially, Saruhiko’s jacket. 

“Not on that bed,” Saruhiko returns without thinking. 

The room is filled with a sudden, heavy silence, and then Misaki sits up with a jolt, once again the color of a tomato. 

_ He should get himself checked for a popped blood vessel…  _

“SO ANYWAY,” Misaki says, entirely too loudly, “I heard there’s a-a-a cable car… thing… around here. We should go do that!” 

“Tch. No.” Saruhiko collapses onto the bed, watching Misaki bounce up and then down with the mattress. “I’m tired.” 

“Pft, you’re always tired. All you’d have to do is sit and look at the view. C’mon, it’ll be nice. Trees and mountains, and all that.” 

Saruhiko rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. “There are trees and mountains right outside  _ this  _ window.” 

“Come _on_. Let’s just go. I’ve always wanted to go in a cable car.”  
“No.”

“ _ Please? _ ” 

Saruhiko opens his eyes and regrets it.  _ Fuck. He’s doing that thing with his eyes, again…  _

“All right, all right, fine. We’ll go.” 

“Yes!” Misaki punches the air and springs off the bed. “Let’s go, then!” 

“Right, right.” Saruhiko pulls a pillow over his head. “...In approximately three hours.”

 

.

 

The cable car has stopped. 

Of-fucking-course it has. 

How could he ever have expected otherwise?

 

.

 

“Well,” Misaki laughs nervously, “I hope this thing starts working again, soon. I mean, you’re antisocial and I’ve got no friends, but our  _ parents _ will cry, at least, if we go missing forever...” 

Saruhiko scoffs. “Right.” 

Almost instantly, amber eyes narrow and he realizes his mistake.

“Saruhiko…” 

“My…  _ father _ … died when I was in high school, so he can’t cry, although I doubt he would if he were alive, either. And my mother wouldn’t even notice I’m gone.” Saruhiko spits the words out quickly, hoping it’s enough to pacify his companion. 

It’s not. 

“You know, Saruhiko, we’ve only known each other for a few days, but I think you’re probably the best and closest friend I’ve ever had… and I know I can tell you everything, because I pretty much already have.”

Saruhiko doesn’t like where this is going. “Misaki—”

“And I just… I want you to know that you can tell me things, too. I won’t judge or… try to  _ fix  _ anything, if you don’t want me to. I promise. But sometimes it helps to say things out loud, trust me, I’ve had my own moments like that—”

“Sorry to be competitive, Misaki,” Saruhiko cuts in, “but I doubt you’ve had any moments that come even a little close to what I’ve had.” 

Misaki frowns. “You don’t know my life. Well, I mean, you do, but—”

“Yes. I do. You complain about your mother a lot, you know. Complaints mixed with fondness and exasperation.” Misaki is quiet now, listening, and dimly Saruhiko thinks that for once in his life, the redhead has figured out when it suits his best interests to shut up. “I used to hear the same things from the kids at my school, always whining… their moms are too clingy, their moms are too protective, too naggy, too  _ interfering _ . I never understood what the hell they were talking about because my mother showed up for my birth and then walked out and never looked back. It wasn’t like she left us, no, she’d never do anything that could get her rich name in the papers, not when she could just as easily stay away from me and him by spending all her nights at her company.” 

This is strange. Saruhiko hates,  _ hates  _ talking about himself, about his life, about his… family. And yet he can’t stop, can’t stop running his mouth, can’t stop the words from tumbling out, one after the other like grains of sand in an hourglass, and Saruhiko can’t tell if he’s in the top half or the bottom, whether his words and freeing him or drowning him. 

“Can’t blame her, though. That Guy wasn’t around much, either, but I wouldn’t want to be home when he was, and neither would she. She wasn’t there when he left me choking on the floor, because toddlers aren’t supposed to be around cigarette smoke. She wasn’t there when he smashed and burnt the anthill I’d raised for months, and then set cockroaches on the dead ants. She wasn’t there every time he told me my life was worthless beyond being his toy, that if even for a moment I felt happy, I shouldn’t get used to it because nothing lasts. Nothing except him, of course, because even after the hospital called and I hung up, even after I watched them drop him six feet underground and cover him up again, he never left—he never let me go—he never—I couldn’t—”

Saruhiko stops, breathing heavily, and for a moment all he can think is that this must be the most he’s spoken at once in his life. Misaki stands, and Saruhiko feels fear shoot through him like a metallic arrow with a rusted tip, thinking that he’s fucked everything up, now, with his twisted past and twisted present and twisted future—that Misaki is going to leave him, or will as soon as they get back down. His hands clench into fists in his lap, waiting for Misaki to tell him he’s got problems, that the redhead doesn’t want to spend the rest of his vacation with someone like him. But Misaki doesn’t say any of that, he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, he steps forward, slowly, and then again, and again, until Saruhiko’s face is pressed against Misaki’s shoulder, and warms arms are wrapped around his frame. It’s hot and stifling, but for the life of him Saruhiko can’t find the will to pull away. 

“It’s okay, Saru,” Misaki whispers, and his lips are brushing Saruhiko’s forehead, fingers weaving gently through his hair. 

 

.

 

“It’s okay.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for catharsis 
> 
> and yes I know I copped out on the rafting, probably should have written about that, and I know I kind of fast-forwarded... a lot... but I can't help it... I don't like river rafting... and yeah... 
> 
> bUT there was that thing with the bed and the awkwardness so I think that about makes up for it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> oh yeah and in case you're wondering, the look I imagine on Misaki's face during that raft bit is just (◕///◕)
> 
> I hope that last part wasn't too OOC... but I think that Saru's family life is the sort of thing that, once you start talking about it, you just can't stop. The hard part is getting him to start, but maybe bringing in that idea of competitiveness helped stimulate that conversation. And of course Misaki is best therapist 
> 
> I don't know, though... that scene feels rushed and not that good... ;—;
> 
> Anyway, Denali's up next, the last and best location~~ 
> 
> Also, I keep forgetting to mention— last chapter's title was from You Belong with Me (Taylor Swift) and this one was from Castle of Glass (Linkin Park)
> 
> aaaaas always, comments are my fuel, so please comment anything you like or would like to see more of (seriously, guys, your comments light up my whole day)


	5. 'Cause I'm Only Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.

_ Thank you. _

He says it in the way he grips Misaki back, not trying anymore to pretend that his shoulders aren’t shaking, and he feels Misaki’s  _ you’re welcome  _ in the way the redhead holds him close, not saying a word as twenty years of bottled up pain spill out of Saruhiko’s eyes. 

_ Thank you.  _

He says it with his eyes, when the cable car jerks and begins its descent, and Misaki stumbles backward to fall into his seat, and Saruhiko gives him only a split second of eye contact before turning to look out the window. Misaki mirrors his actions, but neither of them are really seeing the trees. 

_ Thank you. _

He mouths it over and over again as they walk, Misaki leading the way and Saruhiko following a few paces behind, and Misaki can’t hear him but he turns anyway and smiles. 

_ Thank you. _

He whispers it into the darkness, barely audible, just a breath, and Misaki does not respond, but the bed dips a moment later and Saruhiko doesn’t object to Misaki’s presence by his side. 

_ Thank you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one's sort of a mini-chapter. I could have just skipped ahead to Denali, but I felt that this was necessary, and it didn't fit with any other chapter, so take it as a sort of filler while I try to sort out the last location~


	6. If There's One Memory I Don't Wanna Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denali: Day One. 
> 
>  
> 
> Moose and marmots and antlers and stuff and things and yeah I've forgotten how to summary again 
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: this chapter is a shaaaaaame

Misaki sighs, long and content, from within the blanket burrito he has constructed around himself at the cabin in Denali National Park. It’s a small cabin, wooden, isolated from the rest, shrouded by trees and shrubbery. It sits just a meter or so away from an icy stream flowing over smooth pebbles, a few stubborn daisies clinging to life nearby. 

Saruhiko pushes him aside—rolls him, really—and settles in beside him, opening his laptop. 

“Want to see all those picture you insisted on taking?” 

“Hell yeah!” Misaki wriggles, trying to free himself from his burrito, and promptly falls off the bed. 

 

.

 

Throughout the trip, Miskai has often had his phone at hand, taking pictures of anything and everything under the Sun—an interesting plant, an odd spider, a sunbathing bear. And selfies. Lots of selfies. 

Lots. Of selfies. 

But on the train to Denali, Misaki made a discovery. Saruhiko has a large camera. 

From that moment on, Saruhiko’s life became a misery. If Misaki was taking million of photographs before—well. At least, with a phone camera, Misaki had obliged only in quick shots of things as they passed by. Now that he had obtained a proper camera, however, the redhead appeared to instantly transform into a professional photographer, focusing and shifting angles and spending entirely too long trying to get the perfect picture. 

It was… kind of cute, actually, or it  _ would  _ have been if Saruhiko weren’t so tired. 

 

.

 

Having escaped from his burrito, Misaki flops back onto the bed, throwing the thick blankets over them both, and Saruhiko pulls up the pictures. 

 

.

 

The first photograph shows Saruhiko stepping off the train, his travel pack slung on one shoulder, looking to the side. Misaki looks away. 

“...I was trying to get the train logo.” 

“Yes, that’s why you picked a car that doesn’t have the logo on it.”   
  


.

 

A few pictures ahead, Saruhiko is standing in a small store, looking bored and holding up a packet in one hand and a hood in the other. The packet contains two earrings, made—if the label is to be trusted—out of moose droppings dipped in gold paint. The hood, meanwhile, is red and fluffy, like a fox—which would be nice, if not for the fact that the fox’s head is still attached. 

Misaki shudders. “I don’t know  _ how  _ you could touch that so calmly.” 

“Believe me, Misaki,” Saruhiko deadpans in response, “when you spent 90% of your work day plotting how to violently murder your boss and subordinates, you don’t get fazed by mere animal pelts.” 

 

.

 

Misaki, on the other hand, has a very different viewpoint on the matter, as seen in the next photograph:

Misaki stands at the door of another shop, where a grey wolf pelt is hanging from a nail—fur, paws, head, and all. Nailed next to it is a smaller pelt of the same style—a white rabbit. The redhead’s eyes are wide as he reaches out a hand to the rabbit. He looks close to tears. 

“Nice,” Saruhiko says. 

“The  _ one  _ time I let you have the camera,” Misaki grumbles. 

 

.   
  


The next few pictures are set in the mountains, where they took a bus tour up for the view, and are all of the same animal: a small, weasle-y sort of creature with round ears, tiny feet, doe eyes, and whiskers far too long for its face.

“What?” Misaki says defensively when Saruhiko arches an eyebrow. “It’s cute…” 

“It’s a  _ marmot _ ,” Saruhiko says, rolling his eyes. “It’s going to grow to be half your size and have giant, yellow buck-teeth.” 

“Like I said,” Misaki mutters under his breath. “You must be  _ really  _ fun at parties.”

 

.

  
The bus stopped at a scenic point in the mountain, overlooking more mountains and a few arbitrary mountain goats (the latter of which taught Saruhiko that his companion is shameless meme trash). Misaki didn’t seem to care about the scenery, however—they’d both seen quite enough trees and mountains, back in that Girdwood cable car. What he cared about were the large, stark-white antlers resting on a wooden bench by the cliff.

“Saru, Saru, take my picture!” Misaki called, hoisting the antlers up to either side of his head. Saruhiko rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue—something, he reflects now, he seems to do quite often when around his companion—but took a series of pictures as Misaki pulled a wide variety of faces. 

“They’re good pictures,” Misaki states approvingly. “I don’t know what you got so grumpy about.” 

“Don’t you?” Saruhiko responds, and moves to the next picture. 

Now it is Miskai behind the camera—presumably—as Saruhiko stands at a slouch with the antlers on either side of his head, looking off to the side with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. 

“Ah,” Misaki says. “That.” 

“That.” 

“Ch. I still don’t get your grumpiness. You look cute.” 

Saruhiko is silent, and Misaki promptly flushes and hides his face in a pillow. 

“Shut up! I mean… with the antlers… a-anyone would, okay, just shut up!” 

“I didn’t say anyth—”

“Shut up, Saruhiko!” 

 

.

 

Terrible as the antlers were, their final activity of the day was phenomenally worse. 

Zip-lining. 

There aren’t many pictures of this activity—only a flushed and beaming Misaki standing with his gear in a heap by his side, hair windswept and eyes dancing, even in the stillness of the photograph—but Saruhiko can remember the ordeal enough without them.

The trees, towering high above them, ringing with platforms and connected by trembling metal wires. The gear, tight and uncomfortable, digging into his skin even before they began the experience. The air, whistling in his ears and yanking at his hair, chilling him to the bone as he skimmed the surface of a pond. 

Misaki loved it, of course, adrenaline junkie that he is—he babbled about it the whole way back to the park, in fact, going on and on about how  _ amazing  _ and  _ brilliant  _ and  _ cool  _ it was. 

“Hey, it  _ was _ ,” Misaki says defensively, arms crossed. 

“I’d rather hear you gush about anything else,” Saruhiko groans, noting the return of that excited gleam in the redhead’s eyes. “Literally  _ anything  _ else.”

 

.

 

“Hey, do you remember, in the bus on the mountain, when we were on the way down?” Misaki muses, smiling at the ceiling as Saruhiko sets his laptop aside and flicks off the lights. “And that moose just appeared out of nowhere and walked in front of the bus… and we honked at it but it wouldn’t go away. And then it walked up to the bus and just stared before wandering back into the mountain.” 

“Yes, Misaki, I remember this event that happened less than seven hours ago.” 

Misaki doesn’t hear the comment, or ignores it if he does. “That was weird. But kind of funny.” 

“...Yeah. I guess so.” 

There is a brief silence—but a comfortable one, unlike the sorts of awkward silences Saruhiko is used to from his mother, his colleagues, his old classmates. 

“Today was nice,” Misaki mumbles through a yawn, after a moment. “No matter what you say, Saru.” He nestles into the bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin, and lets out a sigh. “Night.” 

Saruhiko settles down beside him, watching his companion’s breaths steady. 

_ Tell him to fuck off,  _ Niki whispers, hovering upside-down above them.  _ Tell him to go sleep on the floor.  _

_ I will,  _ Saruhiko thinks back.  _ I will.  _

But he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moose thing happened, by the way. And the animal pelts... and the mode pellet earrings (some of them weren't even dipped in paint).
> 
>  
> 
> ughhhh this chapter is bad I hate myself for this   
> *sits in the shame corner*
> 
> As my friend FandomPandaBear so eloquently put it, there are two modes to every writer: _writewritewritewrite_ and _I don't know how to word_.   
>  Unfortunately, I was in the second one during this chapter... which sucked because I've had the next few chapters planned out for a while now, but I couldn't write them until I did this one so now I feel like this chapter is mediocre filler shit but yeah, take it anyway because I'm trash and goddammit I just want to get to the Important Stuff. 
> 
>  
> 
> also psssst that last part in the zip lining section is ~~~foreshadowing~~~ *waves hands spookily*


	7. What Is This Feeling?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> obligatory mikoto-san cameo and also some berries and an epiphany ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Saruhiko regrets questioning why he is being shaken awake before the Sun has even dared to show its face the moment Misaki’s answer comes. 

“We’re doing  _ what _ .” 

“A hike,” Misaki repeats excitedly, “to the top of Eagle Cliff.”

Saruhiko stares at him for a moment, and then rolls over and pulls the covers over his head. “No.” 

In the next moment, Saruhiko feels a yank, and then a rush of cold air swarms him. Misaki is cackling, the blankets in a pile by his feet. 

“Come on, get up. I’m not going by myself.” 

“Then don’t go.” 

“Nope, I’m going, and you’re coming with me. Come on, you  _ said  _ we’d do your whole itinerary together!”

“No. No. I’m not going hiking.”

Misaki sighs. “Okay, well… can you at least drop me off? They might not let me go otherwise, since everything’s in your name…” 

“...Fine.” 

 

.

 

“Hey.” The guide for this trip is significantly less…  _ bouncy _ … than Robin. He’s tall, Saruhiko thinks, or would be if he stood a little straighter, and his red hair is even darker than Misaki’s. 

“Hi,” Misaki squeaks, and Saruhiko marvels at this sudden change in tone. 

“Okay, I’ve dropped you. I’m leaving now,” Saruhiko says, and Misaki grabs his arm. 

“W-wait! Remember… I can’t speak English…” 

The Sun still hasn’t risen and Saruhiko wants to walk into a tree.  _ Right. Yes. Of course.  _

“That’s fine,” the guide says. In Japanese. “I’m from Japan, too. I came here a year ago, but I’ll be going back in September.”

“Really?” Misaki looks as relieved as Saruhiko feels. 

_ Can I go now?  _ He opens his mouth to say it, but—

“I’m Yata M-… ah… just call me Yata.” 

“Suoh Mikoto.” 

“Mikoto-san…” Misaki says slowly.

_ Hold on a second… I’ve heard that name…  _

Once again, Misaki beats him to it: “Oh! Mikoto-san! You don’t happen to know Kusanagi Izumo?” 

Mikoto looks at him. “Yeah. He’s my friend. We opened HOMRA together.” 

Misaki  _ lights up _ , eyes shining and grin growing impossibly wide. “I just started working at HOMRA! Kusanagi-san and Totsuka-san have told me so much about you! It’s so great to finally meet you! So you’re coming back in September?!” 

“...Yeah.” Mikoto looks mildly bemused at this sudden rush of excitement. Saruhiko understands the sentiment. 

“That’s so cool! I can’t wait to work with you then.” 

“Hey—”  _ I’m leaving now.  _

“So what brought you here?”

“Misaki—”  _ Shut up for a second.  _

“Have you been working in this park the whole time, or did you travel?” 

“ _ Misaki _ .” 

Misaki turns, blushing beet red. “D-don’t call me that…”  

“I always call you that. In any case,” he continues before the redhead can protest, “I’ve decided to come on your dumb hike.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Not like I can go back to sleep, anyways. Might as well stick around and make sure you don’t talk yourself to death.” 

“Pft, don’t be grumpy.” 

 

.

 

They’ve been hiking for ten minutes before Saruhiko remembers. 

“Oh… I’ve heard your name before, too. But in different context.” 

Mikoto glances back at him, and Saruhiko takes this as an invitation to continue. 

“You’re my boss’s boyfriend. Munakata Reisi’s.”

Something akin to amusement surfaces in Mikoto’s countenance. “He talks about me?” 

“Yeah.” Saruhiko shudders. “...Too much.” 

A few paces ahead, Misaki turns around, taking in Saruhiko’s face, which he assumes in twisted in disgust. “Too much? You mean… like…” His face turns red again—really, if Saruhiko had a nickel for every time...—and he yelps, “Ah! That’s… that’s so…” 

“Tch.” Saruhiko smirks. “Virgin.” 

“Shut up, Saruhiko!” Misaki yells despairingly. “It’s not like you’re not a v-virgin, too!” He pauses, eyes widening. “R-right?” 

“Yeah, but at least I don’t  _ act  _ like it, Mi~sa~ki.” 

He gets a fisted-up leaf thrown in his face for that. Worth it. 

 

.

 

They come out of the trees about half an hour into the hike, and reach an open space on the trail lined with pale bushes. Mikoto reaches into one, and when he holds out his hand, there are a few small, blue berries lying in a cluster on his palm.

“Wild blueberries,” he explains. “There are only a few left, but in their season, you can often see bears passing through here to eat them.” 

“Whoa…” Misaki picks one and pops it in his mouth. “Whoa! They’re really sweet!” 

Saruhiko is more intrigued by a darker bush carrying red berries. They’re slightly larger than the blueberries, translucent, and they shine from the inside, as though tiny stars are trapped at their centers. 

“Are these edible?” 

Mikoto nods. Saruhiko gives one to Misaki and takes one himself. In an instant, the redhead’s nose crinkles. 

“Eugh… they’re so sour…” 

Saruhiko shrugs, taking another. “I like them.” 

“Of course you do,” Misaki mutters under his breath, and Saruhiko laughs. 

 

.

 

He doesn’t laugh again for the next forty minutes, though, lingering behind as Misaki bounds ahead to keep up with Mikoto’s pace, chattering excitedly with—no, at, chattering  _ at _ —him as they approach the peak. Saruhiko can tolerate Misaki’s pictures and lack of English ability, even his boundless energy and constant chatter, but he does not appreciate having been coerced into this hike and forgotten. 

_ Well, well,  _ Niki laughs at him, hanging down from a tree. Saruhiko doesn’t have the willpower to appreciate the irony.  _ Look at that. He must think Mikoto-san is just so cool, huh? Remember when he looked at you like that? You said it yourself, after all… this boy is like the wind. Can’t blame him, though…  _ everyone  _ is like wind when it comes to you, right? You’re just lucky this breeze happened to blow by for this long. Or maybe you’re unlucky for it. Who knows~? _

“Shut up,” Saruhiko whispers, and he’s not sure if it’s to Niki and his taunts, or to Misaki and his endless gushing up ahead. 

It doesn’t matter, of course. 

Neither hear him. 

 

.

 

This shouldn’t bother him. Watching Misaki glow like a sunlamp as he laughs at something Mikoto has said shouldn’t make his stomach twist as though it isn’t an organ but a boa constrictor that’s found its meal. 

Saruhiko has never had friends, has never needed them. And Misaki is no one. Just a stranger freeloading on his trip. 

Just an annoyance, a bee hovering in his peripheral vision, the spark of an idea he can’t chase out of his mind. 

This shouldn’t bother him. 

But it does. 

It does, and he wants to kick something. He wants to yell at Misaki to shut up already, to turn around just for a second and remember him, to  _ look at him _ . 

He wants—

But that’s the thing. In the long run, Saruhiko doesn’t know what he wants. He never has. And how can he convey to Misaki what he himself doesn’t know?

 

.

 

When they reach the cliff’s peak, Misaki finally stops talking, instead sprinting ahead of the group to clamber up a large, disfigured rock at the top—the eagle’s head. Mikoto follows behind, setting his backpack down by the rock’s base and pulling out three bottles of water, two with red caps and one with blue. Saruhiko pops the last of the red berries into his mouth, strangely satisfied by the explosion of sourness that he knows will linger for another two minutes. 

“Hey!” Misaki is yelling, arms waving above his head as the red sweater tied around his waist flaps in the wind. Behind him, the Sun has finally decided to show its face, the first rays of dawn appearing like a golden aura around him. “Hey, Saruhiko! We _made_ it!” 

_ Saruhiko,  _ he thinks.  _ Not Mikoto. Saruhiko.  _

Something akin to relief washes over him, relief and almost triumph, and he looks up at Misaki on his rock, with his flapping sweater and his flapping hair, and pink dust all over his face, and if his stomach was a snake before, it is now a swarm of butterflies, fluttering and causing havoc in his mind, which has very suddenly stumbled upon an extremely important piece of information. 

 

.

 

_ Misaki.  _

_ I want… Misaki.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best part is that the title works wherein the feeling is the jealousy and sudden epiphany of wanting Misaki but it also works as the original song (from Wicked) wherein the feeling is actually loathing, in this case for mikoto ayyyyyyy double-meaning f yeah *puts on sunglasses*  
> •_•)  
> ( •_•)>⌐■-■  
> (⌐■_■)
> 
>  
> 
> dear kira this note is a mess and I haven't even begun 
> 
>  
> 
> I'd intended for this chapter to be reeeeaaaally long... like the way up and the way down again, plus some stuff by the river at dusk... but then I felt like that was a good end to the chapter, so I guess we'll have to wait a little longer for that stuff. 
> 
> But I can tell you one thing: there will be pineapples.


	8. I Think I May Be Falling For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saru coming to terms with his ~~~feelings~~~ and Misaki being rly precious (as always)
> 
> also featuring daisies, rocks, sunsets, and French toast 
> 
> and an obligatory cameo of Misaki's pineapples, because Saruhiko can never escape the Pineappley Curse of the Yata Family

They sit there for a long time, just the two of them, backs pressed against the base of the rock and arms pressed against each other, heat flowing between them as they watch the trees light up, golden in the dawn. Two half-empty water bottles lie on their sides in the grass, red and blue caps stark against the green. The wind is fierce, up here, raging against the other side of the rock, but it can’t reach them, and in this moment, this one, golden moment, Saruhiko almost feels as though nothing can reach them at all. Nothing—and no one. 

The voice in the back of his head is quiet.

There is a small ziplock bag in Misaki’s lap, empty save for three slices of pineapple. Another slice is in Misaki’s hand, half-eaten, and Saruhiko can still taste the remnants of the rest, sour in his mouth. 

Black boots thud on the ground in front of them, and Saruhiko feels Misaki startle. 

“We should head back,” Mikoto says, “before it gets too sunny.” 

“R-right!” Misaki scrambles up, stuffing the ziplock in his pocket. And the moment is broken. 

.

  
Once again, Misaki rushes ahead, with Mikoto following close behind. Their guide gives off a very disinterested aura, but Saruhiko can see in the way that his eyes follow Misaki closely, body always slightly braced, that he’s well prepared to ensure that the over-enthusiastic redhead doesn’t trip 

over his own feet and go tumbling down the mountain. 

(It’s a slightly resentful observation, but an observation nonetheless, and Saruhiko grudgingly admits to himself that their guide is not  _ entirely  _ awful.)

It’s a harsh thought, but for a moment, watching them, Saruhiko almost wishes Misaki  _ would  _ fall. At least that would free him of a rather large problem he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to think about. 

Saruhiko is no stranger to want. As a child, he  _ wanted  _ a loving family, and when he got older and gave up on that feeble hope, he  _ wanted  _ his family to fuck off and leave him alone. He  _ wants  _ to settle into Scepter 4,  _ wants  _ to belong somewhere,  _ wants  _ to be able to hear his name called by his colleagues without flinching and reaching for the knives hidden in his desk. He  _ wants  _ Niki’s memory to pack up and leave and never come back. 

But this—this is a different sort of want. The want of a person, because that is, essentially, what this is. It is a want to know Misaki, more than he does now, to know everything about him and more. It’s a want to be around Misaki, to see him every day, to have his first sight in the morning and his last in the night be that warm, liquid amber. It’s a want for contact, for conversation and company, a want to hold Misaki and be held back, not only in times of pain and hurt but in the most casual moments of the afternoon. 

In short, Saruhiko wants Misaki. 

And he absolutely hates it.

.

“Oi, Saru, what’re you doing?”

“I’m going back to bed, so shut up and don’t bother me this time.” 

“Shut up, yourself. Jeez, this guy… how can you sleep after all that?” 

“...” 

“Hey, don’t ignore me.” 

“...”

“Come on. No one falls asleep that quickly.” 

“...”

“Saruhiko?”

“...”

“Are you… okay?”

“...” 

“Hey, Saru—”

“Shut up, Misaki. Just… stop talking. Please.”

 

.

 

It is already late in the afternoon when Saruhiko wakes. He is alone in the cabin, the air still and quiet, but there is a still-warm cup of hot chocolate on the table, accompanied by a French toast wrapped in aluminium foil and sprinkled in that powdered sugar Misaki loves so much. And Saruhiko almost smiles, before he remembers. 

Misaki is outside, cross-legged beside the stream, attention wholly fixed on a string of white flowers in his hands. The daisy chain—for that is, upon closer inspection, what the item appears to be—falls apart, and the redhead throws his hands up, letting out an incoherent stream of curses. Saruhiko can’t help but laugh at his friend’s struggle. 

(But when, when did the term  _ friend  _ begin to come so easily to him?)

“That’s not how you make a daisy chain, Misaki.” 

Misaki’s head jerks up, eyes wide, but seeing Saruhiko’s smile, he relaxes, folding his arms and shooting the other a glare. “It’s a daisy  _ crown _ , actually, and I’d like to see you do any better.”  

Saruhiko smirks, sitting down beside him, and lifts the remnants of the daisies that lie limply on the rocks. With thin, nimble fingers, he carefully weaves them together, tying their delicate stems and caressing their petals as each flower slips between his fingers, dangling closer to the ground as the chain grows. It takes him a little over a minute to complete the crown, which he deposits on Misaki’s head. The daisies are still limp and floppy, resting lopsidedly against his forehead, and Saruhiko nearly gets up and leaves when his traitorous mind whispers that his friend looks cute. 

“You… but…  _ how _ ?” Misaki squeaks, bringing a hand up to brush the flowers. 

“You have to be patient and gentle,” Saruhiko explains, shooting Misaki a smirk. “So I guess that rules you out.” 

Misaki growls. “I  _ can  _ be patient! C’mon, try me. Show me how.” 

The next twenty minutes are spent watching Misaki grow increasingly frustrated at the flowers falling apart in his hands, and trying extremely hard not to laugh. 

“All right, Misaki, I think that’s enough for today…” 

“No, I think I’ve got it now…” 

Saruhiko sighs, leaning back. “I’m  _ bored _ , Misaki. Why don’t you practice with something less… fragile?” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know…” Saruhiko’s gaze falls upon a stack of rocks, its base dark from the water, and smiles. “Rocks.” 

 

.

 

Misaki is not a patient person, this Saruhiko knows. But it’s still amusing to watch the redhead collapse against the rocks and scream after his tenth stack falls over, washed away by the stream. 

Saruhiko’s stack, on the other hand, is half a foot tall and growing. It has several large, flat stones at the base, slowly tapering in size to the tiniest pebbles at the top, all in a variety of colors from grey to blue to red. 

“ _ Why? _ ” Misaki groans, seeming to have abandoned any hope of understanding the  _ how.  _ “Why are you so… so…” He gestures vaguely, and in doing so he knocks Saruhiko’s stack into the stream. “O-oh… shit… sorry…”

Saruhiko stares at the water. He can’t even see the stones anymore, hidden amongst hundreds of others like them.  _ Build and break. Build and break. Build and build and never forget to break, break is the most important part, break it before it breaks you. Build and destroy, always destroy— _

“Hey, Saruhiko?” Misaki asks tentatively, and Saruhiko can see the cable car at Girdwood reflected in his eyes. “You’re okay, right? You’re not going to get all… depressed, right?” His eyes widen even as he speaks, and he brings his hands up, waving them in front of his face. “N-not that that’s… I mean, if you did, you know I’m here for you… but it would be best if you didn’t… you know… obviously…” 

Saruhiko feels a smile spread across his face, sharp like a knife. “It’s fine, Misaki. I told you, things always break, so it’s better to destroy it now than wait and pretend it won't.” 

Misaki stares at him for a moment, and his liquid eyes turn hard. “No. No, no, no. I'm not letting you think like that anymore.” He frowns, and then his eyes light up and he grins. “C’mon, we’re making another one.” 

“Aren't you listening? It won't last anyway, so what's the point of—”

“The point isn't the future!” Misaki interrupts, straightening. “The point is what we do  _ now _ . So… so let’s just enjoy the now, okay?” 

Saruhiko doesn't respond, and Misaki shuffles close to him and picks up a large, smooth rock. And then another, and another. Carefully, he places them one on top of the other, biting hard on his lip in concentration. Slowly, slowly, Misaki stacks a series of pebbles, tapering in size, in a variety of colors from grey to blue to red. Saruhiko watches him, eyes wide, unsure of what to make of it. The pile will fall, he knows, the moment the stream becomes more turbulent or the wind picks up just slightly. 

_ So then, why…? _

“There!” Misaki sits back from his stack, turning to beam proudly at Saruhiko. “Good as new.” He seems to deflate a little at Saruhiko’s continued lack of response, but manages a small smile. “I know… I can't fix everything that's happened to you. But I’ll fix the small things, and I’ll make up for everything else, whether you like it or not. That's a promise.” 

And he looks so earnest, eyes burning and ears red, that in spite of everything in him that screams otherwise, Saruhiko believes him. 

 

.

 

Ten minutes later, the stack is still standing and Misaki has completed a daisy crown. 

“That proves it,” he says smugly, dumping the mess of flowers onto Saruhiko’s head. “If I can make a daisy crown, you can be happy.” 

Saruhiko can't bring himself to point out the flaws in that logic, so he says nothing at all, only slumping against Misaki. Together they sit facing the river, watching the water and its pebbles turn gold, orange, red, and finally silver as the Sun descends and the stars take over the inky sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omf precious dorks 
> 
> This was fun to write... the daisy chain thing was based on some official art I found, by the way, so you should google that if you haven't seen it because it's fucking precious, and the scene is literally exactly like what's happening here.
> 
> Anyway, I only have one or two chapters left, so... whoo... *sighs heavily*  
> This has been a fun ride. Holy shit. 
> 
> I've pretty much given up naming the songs and artists I've used in the titles at this point, but if I remember, I'll list them all at the end. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, so please comment if you did. I've said this before but comments are my //fuel//, and really nothing motivates me more than what you guys say.


	9. Shatter Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter~
> 
>  
> 
> A(n ill-advised) decision is made.

“So, where do you live?” Misaki asks, and Saruhiko nearly chokes on his coffee. 

“Why… do you ask?”

The redhead rolls his eyes, slowly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “So we can keep seeing each other back home, obviously.” 

“What makes you think we’ll be seeing each other after this trip?” 

Misaki stops walking, his whole body deflating, ever-present glow becoming dim. “...We won’t?”

He looks so despondent… but that's good, that's good because Misaki shouldn't think too much of Saruhiko, shouldn't expect too much from him, and if he's hurt then at least he won't push the idea of spending more time together. Saruhiko doesn't know if he can handle spending any more time with the redhead, not if he intends to stamp out that inconvenient fluttery feeling he gets when his companion smiles. 

“We really won't see each other?” Misaki repeats quietly. 

_ No, we won't,  _ Saruhiko thinks. 

“I live at Scepter 4,” Saruhiko says, and he knows he should regret it but he can't because Misaki is  _ smiling  _ again _.  _

“Cool! I have an apartment a few blocks south of HOMRA. That's… not too far, right?” 

“That's a relative statement,” Saruhiko murmurs back. “But I suppose so.”

“Then… I'll be seeing you, right?”

Saruhiko clicks his tongue. “How should I know?” In his peripheral vision, he can see Misaki studying him with a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“Let me rephrase that,” Misaki says after a moment. “I  _ will  _ be seeing you when we get back.” 

“Will you?” Saruhiko asks, only half sardonically, resuming his walk. 

“Oh, yes, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.” Misaki flashes him a confident grin. “If you don't cooperate, I'll find out from Kusanagi-san or Mikoto-san when your work day ends and wait for you every day until you can't avoid me. You  _ know  _ I'll do it.” 

Saruhiko doesn't doubt it. Not so long ago, he would have been inwardly screaming at the very idea, yet now he finds that somehow he… looks forward to it. 

“Do that, Yata Misaki, and I'll have invisible lasers installed all around the building.”

Of course,  _ Misaki  _ doesn't have to know that. 

 

.

 

They sit across from each other in the Chinese joint they first got to know each other in, a warm bowl of noodle soup with two spoons in it resting on the table between them. 

“Our last day in Alaska…” Misaki murmurs. 

“Our last day of vacation,” Saruhiko corrects. He shakes his head, eyes drifting somewhere over Misaki’s shoulder. “I'm almost dreading going back. Without me around, I wouldn't be surprised if my subordinates have destroyed half the building.” 

The redhead laughs. “You have so much faith in them.”

“Doumyoji writes official government reports in stick figures and Hidaka’s always trying to pull dumbassed pranks on everyone. To name just two of the idiots I work with.”

“They sound… interesting. I can't wait to meet them.”

There it is again—that casual mention of meeting up when they return to Japan. As though it were a given. As though it were as easy as choosing to eat cereal for breakfast. But then, for someone like Misaki, it probably is. No analysis, no contemplation, no thought at all—the redhead only acts on the spontaneous stimulant of emotion. It might be the polar opposite of Saruhiko and everything he knows. And it might be exactly what he needs. 

 

.

 

“Excuse me.” 

Saruhiko doesn't look up from his phone, once again making the best of what remaining time he still has with signal before the plane takes off, answering his companion with a noncommittal hum. 

“Excuse me,” Misaki repeats with exaggerated courtesy, “but may I use your shoulder as a pillow?” 

“No,” Saruhiko says, but he can tell from Misaki’s grin that the redhead knows he really means  _ yes _ .

Misaki settles into Saruhiko’s shoulder just as the plane begins to move, and Saruhiko gives a quiet, resigned sigh as he switches his phone off. 

_ Goodbye, single remaining bar of signal. Goodbye, unhealthily glowing screen. Goodbye, last tangible hope of sanity.  _

Then he remembers his  _ new  _ tangible hope of sanity, and rests his head against its ginger hair as the ground falls away and the mountains shrink beneath them. 

Under the armrest, Saruhiko’s fingers brush against Misaki’s.

His phone is a far more reliable object to give his trust to, he knows. A phone cannot leave him, cannot hurt him, and if it dies it can easily be replaced. A person, especially one as impetuous as this one, is not such a great choice, particularly considering the fragility of what it is Saruhiko is giving to him. There is so much that could go wrong, so much that he can't even begin to list the half of it, and every atom in him screams that this is a terrible idea. 

Under the armrest, Saruhiko’s fingers brush against Misaki’s.

And interlock. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whooooo last chapter hell yeah  
> I don't know about you guys but i'm very proud of Saru for making this terrible decision 
> 
> I'm not planning on writing an epilogue, but in case you felt like knowing, I imagine their return to Japan to go something like this:  
> Munakata, Awashima, and the Alphabet Squad meet them over the airport, and the latter group immediately begin fussing over their long-awaited Fushimi-san, and Munakata very casually mentions that 'oh so this is the person who's been eating up all our money' and makes Misaki very uncomfortable with his... Munakata-ness. Eventually Saru and Misaki part ways, but right before he leaves, Misaki, being the impulsive bby he is, gives Saruhiko a sort-of kiss, like right beside his mouth rather than on it. And then stutters out a very red-faced goodbye and rushes off. Saruhiko tries to act like it's nothing important, but of course his colleagues badger him about it the whole way back. Afterwards, Munakata and Awashima have to console the Alphabet Squad as they all lament on why the newcomer gets Fushimi-san just like that even though they've been trying to get through to him for like a year 
> 
>  
> 
> That's all for this one.. thanks for following me in this mess of a romcom! And, as always, comment if you liked anything~

**Author's Note:**

> well that happened 
> 
> I've had this idea for a while and today I just sort of... wrote it...   
> I'm thinking about alternating POVs but I'm not sure, so tell me what you'd prefer to read~ 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm looking forward to this, except that I need to look at old trip photos of my vacation to Alaska a couple years ago and oh god the horror of looking at old trip photos 
> 
> As always, kudos are always appreciated and, as always, comments are my fuel, so comment what you like and what you'd like to see~


End file.
